Unbound
by Orange Sodie
Summary: It'd been so long since he felt something real. RyanValera


Title: Unbound  
Author: Carolina  
Rating: FRT  
Spoilers: Killer Date, 10-7  
Author's notes: This was supposed to be light and fluffy. Totally didn't work out that way.

Unbound  
by Carolina

He'd driven circles around the city for what seemed like an eternity.

Unwittingly, he'd been witness to the dramatic changes in the atmosphere, watched as it turned from blue to orange, from orange to purple, and now finally to black. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, why he couldn't seem to press on the brake and stop the car. Maybe because he couldn't let go of the ridiculous notion that if he wasted as much time as possible he would be able to wake up in the morning, or any morning, in a completely different time. Months, maybe years from now, or before now. And if he was lucky enough, he'd be able to open his eyes again to a completely different city, where breathing life is something people only do during the day, never at night. Unlike this place.

Or maybe he was driving towards an unattainable goal; redemption, maybe. Forgiveness. Nothing he would be able to find in Miami, because the city is full of sin, black, temptation. Miami is the Garden of Eden. Beautiful. Glamorous. Enticing. Deadly. During nights like these he wished he could muster up the courage to leave, start anew somewhere else, somewhere innocent; somewhere peaceful.

He'd never found the courage in him, however, and he'd come to the conclusion that even if he did, he still wouldn't be able to leave. Miami's a trap, a poisonous animal adorned in beauty. Get too close and it snatches you whole, cages you until one day you wake up and find yourself driving circles around the city for no apparent reason.

Some time later, he stopped. The physical numbness had begun to subside, and his right foot was beginning to drum painfully from it being pressed against the pedal for so long. Ignoring it, he looked up at the sky, but couldn't find a sign that indicated the name of the street he found himself in. But he didn't need one. One look at the very peculiar liquor store down the street and he quickly realized he was close to her apartment building.

He put the gear in drive again, turned around, and he didn't care if she wanted to see him or not; he couldn't remember the last time he had a selfless thought. As he stood outside, he counted all the windows from the first floor to the 5th, and felt satisfaction at the realization that all her lights were on. He took advantage of the fact that a little old lady was exiting the building to sneak in. If she was scared of robbers she didn't show, or maybe he didn't _look_ threatening enough. The latter was probably more plausible.

It wasn't until he got to the 5th floor that he felt it: the exhaustion that threatened to break in through the numbness, the feeling that his soul was too restless and too gargantuan in a too small body. Discomfort. Not just physically but mentally as well. And yet the notion of sleep, of rest, seemed ridiculous at that moment.

He rested his head against her door as he waited, and briefly wondered if it was too late for him to visit. But then he heard approaching footsteps and realized it wasn't too late, but was probably too early. He didn't know why time seemed to be dragging lately.

She opened the door and he didn't know what he'd been expecting to see, because she still looked the same, with her short, dark hair tucked behind her ears, her dark eyes green and wide. She was down to a faded pair of jeans, a worn out tank top and flip flops. He'd never seen her looking so casual, a voice reminded him instantly, and if it weren't for the circumstances, he would've enjoyed her domestic look. But he couldn't ignore the fact that she would probably rather be all donned up for work.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a tone of wonder, trying perhaps to conceal the shock that arrived with his sudden appearance.

He looked at her and it occurred to him that he didn't know how to answer her question. But he didn't try. Too much energy to reach back into the crevices of his imagination and think of a good lie.

"Did something happen?"

There was a pinch of worry in her voice. It never occurred to him that she might see his visit as something bad, that she'd be paranoid enough to think he'd driven all the way there to tell her one of her family members had died. It's what he usually did when he showed up at strangers' houses. Maybe that's what he was to her, still. A stranger. The thought bothered him, because regardless of what happened between him and the other people at work, he'd always thought she perhaps understood him. Maybe he'd misread the nature of their interactions.

He looked at her, and her eyes were also glistened faintly with hope, as if she were expecting him to extend his hand at that moment and give her job back to her.

"No."

She frowned at him, but it didn't throw him off. Valera had never tried to hide her emotions. And it was strange to him, to find someone who could be so honest. And if it bothered him when they were at the lab it didn't now, for some strange reason. He needed something real.

"Ryan?"

"Can I come in?"

The look on her face said no. After all, she was still reluctant about him, about his intentions, and she was certainly reluctant about having him there, in front of her, for absolutely no reason that he could give her. He couldn't blame her for thinking like that.

Her body, however, moved aside so he could walk in.

Though he'd given her a ride from work a few times before, Ryan had never really been inside Valera's apartment. Not that he'd never wanted to, she just seemed protective of her private space.

No, that wasn't true. Valera, after all, was open, friendly, inviting. It was easier to make himself believe that she wasn't, because as far as Valera went, everything was black and white. She either liked you, or she didn't. She was either happy, or sad. She loved people or she hated them. Valera gave everything or gave nothing.

The truth was, he didn't want to know where he stood with her. Common sense dictated that she probably hated him, because everyone back at the lab seemed to dislike him, and it made sense that she would, too. Only Valera never followed other people's rules. And since she either liked or disliked people, there was a good chance that when it came to him, the former was true. But it didn't ring true.

And that was the problem. Logic seemed to disappear whenever Valera walked into a room. He couldn't help wondering when he'd started caring about what she thought of him, after all, trying to get into the mind of a weird person is a sure way to end up in an insane asylum. And that's what Valera was. She was weird.

So he spent all his time sitting in the gray area that didn't exist in her mind but that he'd created to shield himself from the disappointment she could cause. And he tried not to figure her out but it was impossible, when everyone else seemed to dislike him and she smiled at him so effortlessly.

And now, as he looked around, he couldn't help but feel an intense amazement at how _normal_ her tiny apartment looked. Very normal. Normal was a word not many associated with Valera.

"Not what you expected?"

He nearly jumped at the question, caught off guard, and looked back, wondering if her weirdness also allowed her to read minds.

"Not exactly," Ryan said. "Thought there'd be porn stashed in every corner.

She came to stand next to him. He didn't ignore the intensity her nearness radiated.

"I had to put it in storage."

He looked at her. Her face was serious, her stance casual. His eyes widened.

"It's a joke, Ryan."

He smiled an enthusiastic smile (the first one in months), and suddenly felt too sane next to a woman that was too crazy. The irony was almost humorous. Ignoring her inquisitive eyes, he concentrated on a red painting hanging off a wall. And she must've painted it herself, because the colors clashed so loudly and the lines were so random that it made no sense to him.

"Want something to drink?"

"No, thanks," he said, but a second later she walked over and handed him a bottle of beer. He took it gratefully. If he needed to drown himself in something that night, alcohol seemed like the most logical option.

She walked past him and he watched her. Her movements seemed more relaxed now that she wasn't standing in her lab, trying to process a hundred samples at the same time. He couldn't help being enthralled by her new demeanor, by the way she grabbed a magazine off the couch and threw it on the coffee table, or the way she let her body fall on a loveseat so carelessly and flawlessly. He watched her still, and her arms were long and thin. Her legs seemed to go on forever.

She never invited him to sit down, but he did anyway. He felt her blank eyes on him, as if having him in her apartment on a Friday night was the most normal thing in the world, though he knew she wasn't thinking that. He'd always been impressed by her ability to stay grounded.

He looked down at the bottle of beer. Not his brand, but it wasn't the taste he was interested in.

"What are you doing here?"

He quickly realized there was no avoiding the question, no matter how much he wanted to just sit there, in silence, and drink his beer and study her endless legs.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully, and whoever said honesty is the best policy had obviously never told the truth in his entire life. Lying was safer, for him and for her, as well. But he had no energy for pretenses.

She seemed to accept the answer, however, and he was glad for that more than he was glad for the beer or the silence.

When he looked up, he found her staring at the label on her beer. It was then when he noticed how un-Valera she looked. Her eyes seemed grayer, incomplete.

_She_ looked incomplete.

He'd always known how much her job meant to her. And in the back of his mind, he'd always been aware of how much she meant to the lab. Only he'd taken it for granted, until he walked into the DNA lab just a few weeks ago and she wasn't there. Then it hit him. Because the new girl didn't care about his experiences during the day. The new girl didn't roll her eyes when he said something completely rude. The new girl didn't make him feel like a fool, and yet challenged, energized, and real at the same time. It was then when he realized how much he missed her.

"How are you doing?" he asked her, offering a taste of his selflessness.

Her 'Bullshit Meter' went off the charts. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You didn't come here to ask how I'm doing, did you."

He felt so inappropriate at that moment, so vulnerable, naked, that he would've given anything to disappear. She looked at him as though he were a bug under her microscope. It angered him that she could read him so easily.

So he took a sip of his beer because he didn't know what else to say, or what to do, where to look. He hugged the bottle in his hands and suddenly her coffee table seemed fascinating. "Guess not."

Something happened to her at that moment. Even though he wasn't looking straight at her, he could feel the change in the air. The tension seemed to increase, and she no longer watched him reluctantly.

"Did something happen?"

"You asked that already," he replied.

"With you?"

He scoffed, and felt the thousands of emotions surge through him like a lightning bolt. With it came the strangest urge to leave. If not leave, then walk over there and take her in his arms, just to feel something _real_.

It'd been so long since he felt something real.

"I don't know, Valera," he said somewhat cynically. "Speedle happened, Delko happened. This whole thing with you happened, and..." He took a deep breath and inhaled half the brew in the green bottle with it.

He wondered what she must've been thinking, for him to come to her out of nowhere and burden her with his petty problems. She might've lost her job, for Christ sake. Her job. Her passion. Her everything. It might disappear in the blink of an eye and yet he was complaining about not having any friends at work.

When had he become such an insensitive jackass?

He looked at her, however, and she didn't seem pissed or irritated. But rather sad. Pitying.

Pity.

He hated the look. He hated her for feeling that way, and he hated himself for allowing the year to change him like this. He hated his decision to leave the squad, to take this job, to take Delko's evidence, to let his frustrations with Calleigh bubble to the surface. He hated his decision to come here, because as he sat there he suddenly realized he had no idea why he'd come to her, without a reason, without so much as a false excuse.

He felt it in his chest, the lack of air, the feeling that he was falling, endlessly. The city was too dangerous, eating him, and he was rapidly losing his battle with a dead man. It was too much to bear.

One final chug and the beer was gone. He put the empty bottle on the coffee table abruptly and stood up, his eyes focused solely on the door.

"Ryan."

He ignored her, ignored the voice that told him what a rude prick he'd become. He only wanted this night to be over, this year to be over. He wanted to get back in his car and drive in circles. He wanted Speedle to clean his goddamn gun and disappear from everyone's memories. He wanted his old life back.

He grabbed the knob, flung the door open and felt her hand grab his elbow.

Strongly. He never would've figured she could be so strong.

"Where are you _going_?"

He looked back at her and it was still there, the sorrow, the pity, her hand gripping his elbow. Strongly. He never would've figured.

"I don't know."

Her hand moved up his arm. Her touch was no longer aggressive, but soothing, soft. He stared at her feet, her imperfect toes. Looked up and her jeans were ragged and old. Her legs seemed to go on forever.

"Stay."

Her eyes were wider now, so big suddenly it was all he could look at. He wanted to reach in them and ease the sadness. He wanted to find whatever was making her incomplete and give it to her, just to see her happy again, to see her smile.

He missed her. It wasn't until that moment that he realized just how much. Because even though everyone back at the lab couldn't stand his sudden personality change, she was the only one who tolerated it. Willingly. And she was certainly the only person in his life who had the right to judge him, after all, he was half the reason why she was currently unemployed. But she didn't.

And though her eyes were melancholic, for her situation and his, they were no longer pitying. They were understanding, evincing turmoil, and it wasn't devastating but it wasn't euphoric either. It was something in between. And at that moment he realized there _was_ a gray area. And they were both standing in it.

His rough hands grabbed her hips, pulled her in, and she made no protesting sounds as lips smashed together. Her total lack of surprise quickly dissolved into passion, and her hand grabbed a fistful of vest. He let her pull him towards her, and he _felt_ it, in his skin (the way her nails scratched through layers of clothes), in his stomach (the butterflies he'd never felt before), in his lips (the way her teeth grazed on them gently, tempting).

It felt real. Her tongue glistening across his lower lip and gaining entrance, her pelvis against his, her nose trying to inhale his skin. He pushed her back and they stumbled together until her back hit the couch. She managed to balance herself and he took the opportunity to shift closer, taste bad beer, bite her lip, make her moan softly, as she ran her hand down his torso and found an opening through his shirt.

Skin on skin, and the sensation was consuming. He pulled back to take a deep breath, and as she trailed soft kisses down his neck, he looked down the small hallway, to where he presumed her bedroom was.

It could be so easy, to get lost in the moment, to ignore the outside world with her. She could forget about her job, and he could forget about everything else. Just him and her, trapped in a city full of malice, tangled up in sheets and arms and endless legs.

But there was that voice again.

And it reminded him that he didn't want to end up like Delko, hollow, lonely, looking for something he would never find and in the emptiest of places. He didn't want to need her like this, like he needed her now, all skin and bone and nothing more. He didn't wanna end up so lost in her that he'd have to spend the next couple of years trying to get out, because he was already trapped in this city and he didn't want to be trapped in her, as resistless as her touch was. He didn't want it to be like this. He'd hurt her enough.

So he gently pushed her away, and her eyes were no longer wide, as they always seemed to be. And though the faint sorrow was still there, the incompleteness, he also appreciated, for the first time in her eyes, discombobulation.

After a brief silence, he signaled towards the door. "I think..."

She looked down, looked up and smiled.

Not a bright smile, or a somber smile. Just a smile. Soft and feminine and gray, and fighting the urge to feel the intensity again, he walked over and gave her an apologetic peck on the cheek.

She walked him to the door, no doubt nursing thoughts he wasn't thinking because at that moment, the whole world seemed to have gone blank. He walked out into the hallway and turned, and her smile had grown reassuring.

So he smiled genuinely (for the second time in months). He started walking down the hallway, and a part of him trembled when he heard her door close. Her elevator was small and slow, like time seemed to be lately, dragging, lazy.

The night had grown chilly in the minutes he'd been up there, and as he walked towards his car he wondered if sleep would come easy if he went home right now, or if he would have to drive for a couple of hours to exhaust himself.

He climbed in behind the wheel, unwittingly looked up at the fifth floor, and he sat there, contemplating nothing, until her lights went off.

The End


End file.
